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the adventures of amelia williamsthe ring

Story written by Alex Pinfold

Author's noteThis third story in the Amelia Williams series of adventures sees our heroine setting out to defeat a ring of Nazi spies operating in New York during the Second World War. The efforts of the talented amateur are however always likely to go awry, and such is the case here. As this story features no fantasy elements beyond the specifics of the plot, the scene where Amelia's captors are attempting to extract details of her investigations involved a certain amout of online research using Wikipedia to discover the actual means of carrying out a certain interrogation technique. There's nothing graphic or especially detailed in this work, but as the content of that chapter is based on real life torture methods it seems best to warn anyone easily offended by this in advance.

Chapter One: Manhattan in Danger

October 1942, New York

There was a gentle fall of rain descending as Amelia Williams stepped onto the sidewalk from the building that contained her office. It belonged to the New York Post, for whom Amelia worked as a freelance reporter and to which she contributed a weekly column. If only the editors knew that it was observations on the 1940s by a time traveller from the twenty-first century then it might be nearer to the front of the paper. But of course, she couldn’t actually say that or else it might not get published at all. Her husband Rory constantly demanded to know what she thought she was doing by writing things effectively with seventy years of foreknowledge that might influence people and change their actions, and thus potentially change the future. What he was basically saying was ‘what if somebody actually reads your column’, which in itself was enough of an affront to make her carry on writing it. Her thoughts about getting back to her apartment, and trying to beat Rory home, were interrupted by a girl who seemed to appear from nowhere. She was about seventeen or eighteen years old, wore a stylish red coat over what looked like evening wear, and had long blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She grabbed Amelia’s own coat in both hands, fingers white as they held the material in a tight grip. Amelia gasped, and tried to calm the girl down.“Steady on...” said Amelia, “who are you? Look, I want to help okay? What’s happened to you?”“Please help me!” cried the girl, quite literally with tears flowing down her cheeks, “they’re after me and they’re going to kill me! Oh please Mrs Williams... please save me from them... please”“So you know my name then...” said Amelia, more coldly than intended; “so what’s your name?”“My name is not important, but the Nazis are going to steal it... no, I don’t know what! But it’s to do with secret weapons, and to do with Manhattan. They want it, and they’re going to steal it... soon!”“But how do we find them? This is a huge city, so I need something to go on; I need a lead...”“There’s a club in Greenwich Village, called The Edge... it’s where... aarrrgghhh!!”The girl slumped in Amelia’s arms, the cry choking in her throat. A powerful black car accelerated away from them, a rear window slowly winding shut. Reaching behind the girl’s back to support her, Amelia felt the unmistakable warmth of wet blood on her fingertips. The mystery girl had been shot. Lowering her to the ground, Amelia checked the girl’s pulse and breathing but could find neither. She was dead, but Amelia had caught a glimpse of the killers. Not long enough to read the plate on the car, and she had not seen inside. But she had seen the girl, the car, the muzzle of a gun as it went back inside the window. She had seen enough to make the incident personal, and she was going to pursue the criminals until she put paid to their plans.Leaving the girl in the care of a police officer who had come rushing to the scene, and after leaving the officer with her name and contact details at the paper, Amelia began the walk back to the rooms she shared with Rory. This was potentially dangerous. This was war and, from what the girl had told her, the villains were Nazis who at this very moment were plotting to turn the war against the allies. She could not allow history to be altered on her watch, so she felt obliged to act. But she could not act as Amelia Williams, not with any kind of anonymity. If the Nazi spies read her column then her cover would be blown straight away, as unlikely as it was that Nazi spies actually were readers of her column in the first place. But it was a chance she was unable and unwilling to take.*****

“Amy Pond!” cried Amelia to a confused and unsuspecting Rory when he walked in from a day at the local hospital where he worked in the administration department; “that would be a great cover!”“Erm... cover for what?” asked Rory, “what are you up to now Amelia?”“Well... I’m planning to infiltrate a spy ring and stop them ending the war; but I need a cover...”“Right... run that past me again, more slowly... and with the beginning put back in please?”“This girl that I seriously had never seen before in my life just got shot in my arms outside the paper offices today by some horrible bad guys in a car, who I guess were the Nazi spies!”“How do you know they were Nazi spies Amelia?!” demanded Rory incredulously.“Oh yeah... sorry, forgot that bit! The girl said so, and she wouldn’t use her dying breath to tell me that if it wasn’t true now would she? They’re going to steal the weapon, she said...”“And you’re going to stop them, all by yourself?” asked Rory sceptically.“Oh no...” said Amelia, “of course not by myself! You’re going to help me, silly!”“Thanks...” said Rory, “what have we got to drink, or do I have to look for myself?”“There’s some red wine left from last night...” said Amelia helpfully.“Not strong enough!” called Rory from the kitchenette area, “ah... this is better...”“Oh yeah... bourbon!” said Amelia as he returned, “pour me a glass...”“You must have drunk a bottle this afternoon to be even considering this Amelia” said Rory.“It was personal, okay? They shot somebody I was talking to, outside my own office!”“So how is this going to work?” asked Rory when they were both settled on the couch.“Right... there’s this guy who runs a stall in Greenwich that sells all sorts of stuff...”“Oh right, so we’ve got a ‘stuff selling’ stall... this sounds like a well thought out plan...”“Excuse me! Talking? It doesn’t matter what he sells anyway, because all he does is pass messages from me to you and the other way around if you need to tell me something. Okay so far?”“Not especially, but go on. What in the world will make him act as a go-between for us?”“He doesn’t have to read the messages, just pass them on. They could be in envelopes maybe?”“And if you’ve met him before then surely he is going to recognise you, the famous reporter?”“I was with another reporter at the time” said Amelia, “and he did all the talking...”“What was his secret?” asked Rory. Seeing his wife’s eyes glaze with incomprehension, he gestured for her to continue; “never mind. But how is this going to work? You must tell him something!”“Oh yeah... well, my idea was that we could be having an affair or something...” explained Amelia.“This gets better. So now I have to pretend to have a relationship with my own wife? Can I just say at this point that there’s a certain amount of irony to that statement. But I’m going to be chasing the girl of my dreams, she’s going to be called Amy Pond so there’s no sense of déjà vu there, and it’s going to be you? But you’re going to be chasing spies and not really interested in the relationship that you’re pretending to have at all, actually. Am I somewhere close?”“Okay... yeah, you seem to have the plan pretty much worked out!” said Amelia gleefully.“You do know that I’m married to a mad woman?” asked a resigned Rory.“You’ve known that for years, sweetie” smiled Amelia, giving her husband a warm hug.“That’s what our daughter always says...” said Rory, thinking of their daughter Melody Pond; the woman who grew up to marry their dearest friend, who had been responsible for their marrying and having their child in the first place. Certainly he was responsible for Melody growing up with super-powers and travelling time and space like it was the London Underground or something. But the many paradoxes of their lives always gave him a slight headache, so he sipped his whiskey and came back to the present reality: his wife’s incredible scheme to take on the whole Third Reich like she was in some sort of war film like Kelly’s Heroes or Escape to Victory; at least that had football in it.“So apart from the insanity, the lack of planning, and the whole danger thing... any problems?”“Nothing at all, but there is one condition that I absolutely insist on Amelia...” said Rory“And what’s that?” asked Amelia, “Any extra good ideas are always appreciated!”“Extra?!” exclaimed Rory, “There aren’t any good ideas! But I do insist on a back-up plan...”“Not a problem” said Amelia confidently, “I’ll contact Steve Leyton and get him to give me a contact in the FBI or something. He’ll trust me without asking too many questions, no problem.”“Well ring him first, before you do anything. And do you have to be called Amy Pond..?”

The EdgeIt took Amelia some time to find the nightclub called The Edge due to Greenwich Village’s unusual street layout, with a mixture of names instead of numbers for the streets and a lack of the coherent grid pattern that made New York generally a lot easier to navigate. The lack of help from the people she met likewise did not help. It was not that anyone was especially obstructive or even unfriendly. They just seemed to be in a world of their own. The war had that effect on many people, but here it was as though a detached existence was normal. Eventually she found the club, with its black paint on the doors and windows and bright red curtains and drapes decorating the interior. Well, Amelia thought, if you were looking for somewhere that was a ringer for a Nazi headquarters then you did not need to look any further than this particular club. She bought a drink for herself, which in any other part of the city or even the world might have attracted more than a curious glance but here seemed to make no difference, and sat down at a table in the corner of the room. This was as good a place as any from which to observe the comings and goings of the club. To her surprise, that coming and going was to her table itself. A cheerful, friendly faced man sat at the chair opposite her, smiling warmly. He seemed to be the same age as Amelia, perhaps a little younger, and had short and wavy black hair. Gesturing the bar tender to bring two drinks to the table, he settled himself and stared at Amelia unblinkingly. The man behind the bar, a tall and well built man with a shaven head and surly attitude marched over and placed a drink before the man and a second drink before Amelia.“You’re new around here...” said the man opposite Amelia. He had a smooth, pleasant voice.“Yeah, I’m just visiting and decided to take refuge in here for a while...” replied Amelia.“Refuge..?” laughed the man, “refuge from what? I’m Tony by the way, what’s your name?”“Amy... Amy Pond” said Amelia, half truthfully; “refuge from everything, the whole world!”Tony laughed as Amelia waved both arms in the air to illustrate the point. “The world is a pretty bad place right now Amy, with the war and everything. But maybe it will all be over soon, with Germany and the Japanese and all their friends defeated and victory parades up and down here for weeks!”“Are you sure that’s what you want to happen though?” asked Amelia, taking a gamble that she was on the correct trail; “I mean, and not that I want any of our boys to be hurt or anything, but what if the better government for Europe is the Reich and not the same old people back again?”“Tell me more...” demanded Tony, suddenly intent on Amelia’s face; “what you really think!”“Are we safe to talk in here?” asked Amelia, looking around and feigning anxiety about discovery.“Bring your drink...” said Tony, “I will take you where we cannot be over heard. Not everyone thinks this country has all the answers, or that Europe needs America to save it from itself. Some even say that America itself would be a better place to live under the principles of the Fuhrer...”“Okay...” said Amelia, her heart racing as Tony led her behind a curtain and down a flight of steps.“This is where you can talk more freely” said Tony, “we allow free speech here, not like up there in the city where views like ours will get you locked away. You know Miss Pond, if you are serious in the way you view politics and if you will help us... there is a mission of the greatest importance that you may be able to play a part in. Someone else... she let us down. And now we need another perfect young woman, such as you Amy, to take over this vital role. Are you interested?”“Yeah... I’m interested” said Amelia, guessing that her predecessor must have been the young girl they had murdered outside the offices of the New York Post the previous day. They certainly didn’t waste any time; that was for sure. “Tell me what I would have to do first though...”Tony said no more on the subject, but walked Amelia along a narrow brick lined passage and showed her into a cellar. The room was cold and untidy. A wooden door led into a small empty storeroom at one end, and the cellar itself contained a singular assortment of paraphernalia: a metal framed bed with no mattress, a stained wooden bench, a rusty wall mounted tap with a copper pipe leading up through the ceiling, a tray with some small rolls wire wool for scrubbing pans that would have been better located in the kitchens, some old jars, a metal funnel, and a wooden crate full of electrical equipment like cables and metal boxes with dials on. She had no idea what any of the miscellany was for and was not sure that even the proprietor would know. The collection had the look of a pile of odds and ends that had been abandoned, albeit recently from the lack of dust and cobwebs in the cellars. But it did throw an element of doubt upon her theory that this was the centre of a very well organised espionage organisation that could alter the course of the war and threaten the natural order of the Universe. Any doubts that lingered in Amelia’s mind were promptly dispelled by the arrival of a tall, imposing woman who entered moments later with Tony trailing in her wake. This was a woman who could command and expect the obedience and respect of those in her employ. Such was the impression that Amelia gained from just the first few seconds before the woman spoke. When she did speak, it was with a tone and confidence that supported Amelia’s feelings.“You are Miss Pond?” enquired the woman; “My name is Evelyn Klausmann. I am in charge here.”“Yeah... I’m Amy Pond. I’m told you have a job for me? This country’s done nothing for me. No money, nowhere to live except hanging out with friends. Yeah... there’s got to be a better answer and Hitler seems to have got Germany sorted out, so why not everywhere else?” said Amelia, hardly about to believe that she could even say such complete lies. But these were dangerous people and she was a professional journalist on a case, so sacrifices of personal dignity were a small cost.“Indeed” said the woman sharply, “but that is enough of political philosophy. If I wish to spend time giving thought to the superiority of National Socialism then I merely have to read Mein Kampf for an hour or two. It is not necessary to discuss these things with everyone I meet who also believes in our glorious cause, for soon all will believe. This is a fact, but not yet. This is our purpose Fraulein Pond. And so we come to your purpose, and this is simple. You will be given instructions of course in more detail at a later time. But for now, you need to prepare yourself to apply for a job at a government department and wait to be contacted. You will be called to the interview, the application itself will be done by us and you will receive a letter. You will be briefed and you will go. When you have the job, then you will be contacted again. Is all of this clear?”Amelia looked carefully at Klausmann, a stunning and glamorous woman in her own way with her straight blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She seemed a little older than Amelia in age, maybe in her mid-forties, and had beautifully clear and radiant skin that must have made many of the men in her life follow her around in hope. It helped if you were a devoted fascist loony, thought Amelia, but obviously lots of men were. After a moment’s consideration, she answered the question: “what if I don’t get the job. Is there a plan B if the interview doesn’t go my way? It might be popular...”Klausmann seemed pleased that Amelia was thinking about the plan constructively. She paused for a moment herself before answering: “that will not be a problem. We have contacts that will ensure that we have the result that we seek. You need not concern yourself... however, I’m impressed.”“Where can I go though?” asked Amelia, “if I’m doing something secret then staying at other folk’s apartments isn’t really going to work. They might ask questions or something... and stuff...”“Good thinking Fraulein Pond...” said Klausmann, “Tony, you will find Fraulein Pond an apartment from which she can work and where we can more easily contact her without suspicion...”When the arrangements were made and Amelia finally climbed up the steps from the cellar and out into the street, she collected her thoughts together and considered her next move. The problem that she had not considered, of how to maintain a cover while still living as Amelia Williams with Rory had been solved by the spies setting her up with a different address. She had been accepted, and by a leader who did not expect a long conversation about socialism to prove her devotion; a discussion that would have been extremely short and probably non-productive. Not only that, but she had a part to play in a secret mission; apparently the same mission that the girl shot in the street had been working on and therefore the same mission that Amelia had set out to investigate. All of this, along with hugs and kisses for Rory, she set down on paper before heading for the stall to try and convince the man behind it that she was having a secret affair with her own husband.The EncounterSix weeks later

Only a week after getting the job as a civilian secretary at the government department that was the target of the ring of spies, Amelia had been contacted by a man within the corridors of the building. He had spoken a prearranged sentence, Amelia had responded, and that was that. No further orders were given, she merely had to wait. It had taken another two weeks before the man had contacted her again. She did not know his name, but he was a bright and enthusiastic younger man who must have worked on a different floor but who came down to the second floor only when instructions had to be passed on. He had given her a lipstick with a secret compartment in the base, in which she would conceal a small role of film that he would give to her after photographing certain important documents. The man had stared deep into her eyes, asking her to reassure him that she knew the full weight of her responsibility. Accepting her silent nod of confirmation, as she stared back into his own eyes with a penetrating stare that eventually made him flinch away, the man had left her with a promise to see her again on the predetermined date. That date was now tomorrow. The office was closing for the day, with all the civilian staff leaving the building and leaving only the military’s own security to guard it and the secrets it contained. Putting on her coat and hat, Amelia picked up her bag and went down to the lobby in the elevator. Stepping out of the lobby she walked straight into a man walking across her path and, after a small cry of surprise, apologised. Then she gasped. It was the man from upstairs, the spy. He seemed as surprised as she was at the unplanned encounter, so he doffed his hat and turned away.“Oh, hi Amelia!” called a young, female voice from the direction the man had taken. The girl was in her twenties, with bright blue eyes and fiery ginger hair. Amelia recognised her instantly as a worker at the New York Post, a secretary from the main central offices. The man, facing the new arrival, had turned to look at Amelia; out of interest more than suspicion. But the ginger girl was not known for her discretion, but rather the opposite. Carla Di Francesco was absolutely the last person that she wanted to see at this precise moment, and she prepared to bluff out the situation. Carla continued to call loudly across the lobby to Amelia while walking towards her; “how are things going? Have you written any new stories lately? The editor is furious that your column is behind! He says...”“Shut up and come over here...” growled Amelia menacingly to Carla, “do you always have to shout everything across crowded rooms? I’m on a story, and you’ve probably just blown everything by telling the whole floor that I’m a reporter! They thought that I... never mind. You might be in danger now too, so you need to go home and stay there. Don’t turn on the lights and don’t answer the door. Not until tomorrow evening, and then it should be safe. Do you understand that?”Carla nodded fearfully. She probably wasn’t in any danger, and the spies would hardly suspect that she was working with Amelia after breaking her cover so carelessly. But Amelia was feeling angry with the girl, and frightened for her own safety, and saw sharing that fear with Carla and making the girl lock herself away for a day as the only punishment she had in her power at that moment. She pushed the now terrified girl away and watched her flee into the street.Now, where was the man? He had disappeared... no! There he was, talking on the phone booth. That was it, thought Amelia; she needed to get away and fast. Her friend in the navy, Captain Steve Leyton, had given her a contact in the New York offices of the War Department who would mobilise whatever help she needed when the time came. Thanks to Carla, that time was now. Could she get to a telephone in time? Not here, for her former contact was now walking straight towards her and reaching into his coat for a gun. She turned and ran out into the street through a side door, turning right and walking briskly along the crowded sidewalk. She looked over her shoulder, and quickened her pace when he appeared from behind another man only a short distance behind. It was difficult moving through the crowd. There were enough people to make progress in a straight line difficult, but there not enough people to form a crowd large enough to hide within and lose her pursuers. At the corner of the next block, a large black car pulled up at the kerbside and three men climbed out. They all wore similar dark grey suits and had their hats pulled low over their foreheads, and all were reaching into their coats to check the readiness of their weapons. She was trapped! The traffic was too busy to allow her to cross the road, and Nazi spies approached her from both directions. There was nowhere to turn, with this part of the street filled with commercial business premises rather than stores that you could run into. But even if there were stores along here, she did not want to endanger innocent shoppers in a potential fire-fight. Suddenly she stopped. On her right was a dark alleyway between two buildings. Thoughts raced through her mind at terrific speed. The alley was deserted, so there was no crowd to hide in and no passersby to make the Nazis think twice about simply shooting her. On the other hand, the darkness itself might also be her friend and a place in which to conceal herself from her would-be attackers. And more than that, the alleyways might be complex enough to actually lose the men by taking different turns. She was equally as fast as the men, of that she was sure. All these considerations passed through her head in a second, and she made her decision. Spinning to the right, Amelia turned and ran as fast as she could along the alley.The paving of the alleyways was uneven and littered with rubbish and debris, but Amelia was able to navigate these hazards easily enough. The anguished cries from behind indicated that perhaps the men following her into the passage were less lucky, and had encountered some of the more solid objects in their path. This slowed their progress, and Amelia had gained a couple of seconds over them as a result. The alley ended abruptly at an intersection with another that led both left and right but which looked equally grim in both directions. She turned right, found herself almost immediately in a small courtyard, and took the opening to the left on the opposite side. As she crossed the small open area, a shot rang out and echoed off the tall walls that surrounded them. The loosed bullet ricocheted around them, and Amelia felt a chip of brick glance off her face. They were close, too close if they could fire rounds from their pistols at her. The new passage was narrow, even narrower than the previous ones, but Amelia ran faster and faster along it. The light was provided by just a few small lamps far above her, and she hoped that no obstacles lay in her path for it was almost impossible to see anything at all. One lamp that was brighter than the rest was positioned at another side turning; this time to the left, and Amelia spun around the corner and ran down it. As she did so, she looked behind her and was delighted to see that the men were now a slightly greater distance behind her. Their wider stature, and inferior ability to see in the dark maybe, had not served them well and they had fallen behind by just a few yards. At the end of the alley, Amelia could see bright lights and traffic and people moving back and forth across the end the passage. Redoubling all her efforts, she ran headlong towards safety. Suddenly, for its presence had been undetectable in the gloom, the iron bars of a gate appeared in front of Amelia’s face. She skidded, tumbled, and crashed into it, but leapt straight back up tugged at it hard. The gate was unyielding, and the four men were nearly upon her. She jumped, trying to reach the top of the gate and climb over, but it was too high. Desperately gripping the metal bars and trying to pull herself upwards, but finding her hands sliding uselessly down the smooth and damp iron, she shouted to the crowds for help. But the gate was some distance from the end of the passage, and the people of New York continued to go about their business without breaking stride. A strong hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her around to face her pursuers, but Amelia only caught the briefest glimpse of them before a cloth handkerchief was placed over her nose and mouth and she slipped silently into unconsciousness.

The InterrogationAmelia’s head was spinning with dizziness and nausea. She really hated chloroform, especially after strenuous activity like being chased for miles. Well, probably not actually miles but certainly it was far enough if somebody inconsiderate was going to a lock a gate in your way. Making it of dark iron in a dark alley and neglecting to put a light over it, so that the first you knew about it was when you were about to bruise your shoulder against it, was doubly inconsiderate. It was something at least, that she could actually remember what had happened and she was not both dazed and confused. As her head cleared she became able to assess her surroundings. She opened her eyes, but the room was in complete darkness and so yielded no clues. The floor felt made of concrete, and was covered with fine dust. That was a point. Why could she feel the floor? She was lying on her left side with her right leg slightly ahead of her to stop her from rolling forwards or onto her back. Whether that was by chance, or whether somebody had kindly prevented her from eating the dust or falling back and suffocating, she had no way of knowing. But she could definitely feel the dust and grit beneath her body all the way from her shoulder and slightly numb left arm, under her thigh and down her legs. So they had taken her clothes away while she was unconscious. Villains! Hold on, she thought. Was it just her professional office dress they had taken, or everything? She could feel her chest resting on the inside of her arm, so tried to reach down to her knickers. Her right hand moved a couple of inches in the required direction until a short chain snapped taught and she discovered the her wrists were in fact handcuffed together; but as far as she could tell, not attached to a fixed point. Rolling onto her back to release her left arm from beneath her, she placed her left hand atop her right and felt around her hips with the palm of her partially liberated right hand. There was nothing there but dust. Moving her feet around the floor, she found that her legs at least were unrestrained. Amelia reached up to her head, running her fingers through her hair and grumbling inwardly about how long it would take to fully wash all the dust and dirt from the below shoulder length strands.The silence was broken after a few minutes by a key scraping in a lock. Fed up very quickly with the grit on the floor digging into her skin, Amelia had struggled up into a sitting position and blinked as she was dazzled by the white glare from the room beyond. Her eyes readjusted as a shadow stepped in front of the light and a man came into the room and ordered her to stand in a surprisingly mild and inviting voice. What was more she knew the voice and its owner. This was, although she could not make him out in the gloom of the small room, the man called Tony from the nightclub called The Edge. So at least now she had one fact, two facts even, at her disposal. This was almost certainly the nightclub, and the centre of the Nazi spy operation, and one of her captors was a man she already knew. Whether this might work in her favour or not was of course unknown. She struggled to stand but her legs were still weary from the chase, suggesting that not very much time had passed, and the handcuffs restricted her ability to pull herself up from the floor. Tony reached down, held her arm just above the elbow, and pulled her firmly but gently up to a standing position. He led her from the room and into a larger, brick walled cellar. It was indeed the network of rooms and passages under the Greenwich Village club, and this meant that Rory had a better chance of finding her since this was an address that she had passed on to him straight away. If only he would notice that she was missing and come looking. But this was Rory, who would notice if she was missing from home for five minutes even if she had just popped out for the milk. He would come running, no worries there.Standing in the room opposite Tony and Amelia was another familiar figure, dressed now in a tight fitting and glamorous black dress and ladies boots with stylish inch high heels. With her hair pulled back and tied in a simple but stunning single knot, Evelyn Klausmann looked every inch the image of a perfect Germanic female. Amelia blinked once and stared wide-eyed at the woman. She also looked every inch the image of a sadistic dominatrix of a Nazi agent, and that was a bad sign. Klausmann it was who spoke first, addressing her opening remark not to Amelia but at Tony.“Let go of Fraulein Pond” she instructed; “she is chained and underground, surrounded by our men”“Okay...” Tony said, then turned to Amelia and added “sorry Amy, but you are a traitor you know...”“She is not a traitor” snapped Klausmann, “she is an agent for someone, planted in our organisation to uncover our plans and prevent us from completing our mission. If she were just the foolish girl that you claim then we could simply keep her here. But we must know who will further jeopardise our plans”“Sorry” said Amelia, flicking her hair back over her shoulder, “I won’t tell you anything...”“In this you are mistaken Fraulein” said Klausmann, smiling; “we want information!”“You won’t get it!” declared Amelia, sounding brave and confident. In reality, her heart thudded in her chest like a pneumatic drill and her breaths were too shallow and ragged to form sentences.“Do you see this bed frame?” asked Klausmann, “you think it looks innocent, yah? It will become a place of torment and anguish for you until you give me the information that I seek. Now, Tony you will take off the chains and Fraulein Pond, you will walk over here and sit on the centre of the bed”“What are you going to do?” asked Amelia as Tony removed the handcuffs from her wrists.Klausmann paused as she explained “You will find out that... nein, you will discover for yourself the wonders of electricity. Back in the Fatherland, you see that I was a doctor... yah, a doctor who was a specialist as you say in the care of women, such as yourself. This means that I am most qualified to also use those skills to, where I also removed pain, also to induce pain. You will see that I take one of these very small bundles of very fine steel, what I am told you call here wire wool? Yah... I drop it in this jar of ordinary water mixed with an oil... like so, to make it a very good conductor of electricity”Amelia raised a questioning eyebrow and asked redundantly “and where are you going to put that?”“Oh please Fraulein Pond” said Klausmann condescendingly, “you are a woman, not a fool...”“So what do you want me to do now?” asked Amelia, taking the decision to try and take some kind of upper ground in the situation. She was scared. The woman was determined, well qualified by all indications, surrounded by loyal followers, and probably completely merciless. If Amelia could find any way to get them on the back foot, even if it meant throwing them by co-operating with her own torture, then it might give Rory the time he needed to rescue her and defeat them. It was a terribly thin hope, and not based on any especially sound reasoning. But the fact was that she was trapped with them, and they were going to do what they were going to do anyway. She looked at the metal framed bed with its thin wires stretched from side to side and end to end that would cut into her back and buttocks, at the leather straps that would tie her ankles to the posts of one frame and the handcuffs that would attach her wrists to the posts of the frame above her head, at the control box plugged into the power supply of the club, at the two wires leading from the box with one tied along a wooden handle and ended in a bared stub and the other waiting to be attached within her, at the small cylindrical bundle of wire fibres that would form the return connection to that second wire, at the woman who would wield these tools of pain and distress on Amelia’s helpless and naked form. Without waiting even for a further reply from Klausmann she drew another shallow breath into her lungs, smiled a superior smile that was simply artificial, and walked over to the bed. The concrete of the floor returned no sound from her barefooted steps as she walked purposefully across to the bed and sat upon it. Klausmann walked behind her and tied a black silk blindfold across Amelia’s eyes, turned her around to face along the bed-frame, and laid her down flat. Amelia felt herself slide over the frame as Klausmann pulled her down it by her ankles before tightly strapping them while Tony fastened the two pairs of handcuffs; leaving Amelia spread-eagled on the frame. Squeezing her eyes shut and holding her breath so as not to show weakness and cry out, she pretended in her own mind that it was Rory being cruel in a night-time game as Klausmann gently inserted the uncomfortable and tingling steel wool. She could tell that Klausmann wasn’t lying when claiming to be a doctor, for her touch was not harsh and she did not use excessive force. But Amelia also knew that she was, to all intents and purposes, wired directly into the wall socket like a toaster. Actually that was a really, really bad analogy thought Amelia; wondering how long she would retain her sense of humour. Do not tell them who you are because they will find Rory, she told herself. Do not even mention Rory. Her thoughts were suddenly broken by an unexpected deluge of icy water that doused her from hips to shoulders. A tiny ‘click’ followed, which she guessed was a switch or dial on the electrical box. Some moments passed before anything further happened, and Amelia could feel the anxious tension of uncertainty taking hold. All breath escaped her lungs in a single piercing scream as the first high voltage current seared into the nipple of her left breast as Klausmann touched it with the wire contact, and out through the permanent contact. Her wrists wrenched uselessly at the locked handcuffs. Stabbing pains lanced through the contact points, tingling and twitching sensations spreading out through her nerves and forcing involuntary convulsions. The contact was withdrawn, but the agonies lingered.“So you are willing to talk to me now, Fraulein Pond?” asked the calm and measured voice of Klausmann.“Is that all you’ve got?” retorted Amelia fiercely, but with a quiver in her voice nonetheless; “bring it on...”“You are spirited, that is good...” purred Klausmann, “in that case we will continue...”The ImposterRory Williams thanked the stall holder and walked away. There was no message from his wife, or his lady friend as the go between believed her to be, and that was not according to plan. He decided to make his way immediately to the War Department where she was working supposedly under cover for the ring of spies. Every day he had been there, a hundred and one excuses made to the hospital for his regular lateness, and every day he had watched Amelia from a distance. He knew what she had bought to wear, what times she came and went, and who she talked to. In fact, he knew far more about her secret operation than she realised. She probably did not even know that he was keeping her under observation, for she would doubtless have protested and ordered that he keep away for fear of giving her away. But she was his responsibility for better or worse, usually worse, and he was going to stay as close as possible. Why had she not left a message? Was it forgetfulness? This was Amelia, so that was a prime possibility. But it was also likely that something had gone awry. So with this anxious mindset, he made his way into Manhattan to the War Department and waited in the lobby for Amelia to arrive. After about ten minutes, a woman entered who caught his attention. That is to say, she caught his attention because she was wearing Amelia’s clothes. Not just a jacket or a skirt, or a hat or the same shoes. All of her clothes were the same as those Amelia had worn the previous day. Now he knew that Amelia was prone to causing jealousy in those around her, being so beautiful that others wished to copy everything. But this was so complete, and the young woman was even the same height as his wife and had the same colour hair. If you did not know otherwise, you could have been mistaken for confusing them.One of the military security staff approached the woman with the ginger hair and Amelia’s clothes and asked her if she was indeed Amy Pond, and whether she wanted the lift. Typical that Amelia had people fetching the lift for her, thought Rory as he listened for the reply that would reveal the man’s mistake. His mouth dropped open as the woman confirmed that yes, she was Amy Pond. That was it then. Something had happened to Amelia, and he hoped desperately that she was still alive to be found. In fact, cruel as it was, he would rather their foes were trying to extract who knew about her mission than the possibility that she had been summarily disposed of and dumped in the Hudson. It was essential to get Amelia back and also complete her mission for her. Today was the day for the theft, according to a previous message, and it seemed logical that the new girl was a replacement for Amelia and would therefore take her place in the scheme. There was a telephone kiosk nearby and he dialled the number given them by Captain Leyton, the navy man who had helped Amelia on a story in Chicago and who she had in turn assisted with a crisis in Hawaii on the day of the Japanese attack. When a voice answered, without identifying itself, he gave the Captain’s name and stated the reason for his call being the capture of Nazi spies and the rescue of an intrepid journalist for a New York newspaper. The man did not reply immediately but, after a few seconds pause, told Rory to go out into the street and await contact.

*****

The car drew up at the kerb outside the War Department and two tall, black suited men climbed from the rear seats and stepped up to Rory. It was the nearest of the two men who spoke first and, holding up a badge, asked Rory to identify himself as the caller. Pouring out the story of the girl who died in Amelia’s arms, the attempt to infiltrate the spy ring, the planned theft of the documents that Amelia would have been a part of, and the substitution of his wife with the woman impersonating her, Rory told the two men everything he knew about the situation and pleaded with them to help him find the missing reporter, his wife Amelia. After a moment’s consultation, the men ushered him into the back and the party drove to an imposing building that, Rory noted as they passed inside, had no name on the door. This was the headquarters of some secret US anti-espionage team he was sure. Shown straight into an office, Rory explained his story once more to the stocky, older man seated behind the heavy wooden desk. Again he pleaded for urgency, and this time he had a man before him with the power to act on the information. He thought for a moment, and then said:“Mr Williams... what you have given us is most helpful and we do intend to act on this today”“But... what about Amelia? Without her, you wouldn’t have any of this! We have to find her...”“You seem to be overlooking an important factor to do with time. Allow me to explain...”“Yes, I wish you would” shouted Rory, starting to lose both his temper and his confidence.“If I may continue..? Yes...” continued the man behind the desk, a name plaque identifying him as a man named Fryer; “at the moment, these people have not stolen anything. We have no proof of the crime or even the plot, and we need both to get them off the streets. If we do as you suggest, and go rescue your pretty lady wife as valuable as she may be... we blow our own operation, not theirs...”“Is it not possible to strike quickly and effectively on their headquarters in the Village, before they have a chance to contact their agents in the War Department; if we act fast and in numbers?”“Mr Williams, I can see you are a determined man. I am prepared to take the risk on this one, but not because you have persuaded me in any way whatsoever. As it happens, I’m a regular reader of Amelia Williams’ column in the New York Post and I already had a lot of respect for her after what she did in Chicago in ‘Forty. So you wait here while I sort out a squad, and then we’ll go... okay?”“Okay!” said Rory, exhaling a relieved sigh. Someone actually reads the column, he thought.*****

Rory waited outside the club known as The Edge while Fryer’s men went in. There were shots and sounds of a fight inside but, after only ten minutes or so, several men were led out from the club escorted by the plain clothed security men. Too impatient to wait any longer, Rory decided to risk whatever consequences lay ahead and go to find Amelia; that of course being dependant on her being both still alive and a captive in the club. He looked around the wide bar but knew not in which direction to turn until another of the spies was led through a curtain at the top of a flight of steps. ‘Right’ thought Rory silently to himself, ‘if Amelia is being held captive anywhere then it’s down that flight of stairs’ and he made his way down into the cellar. Fryer saw him descend the final steps and emerge into the corridor, calling him towards a door as a stunning woman in a black dress was led in handcuffs out of the room and passed him up the stairs. Fryer followed his man and the woman.“It’s all over to you now...” said Fryer, “go and rescue your damsel in distress; she’s in there...”“Is she okay?” asked Rory with concern, “is she hurt? Is she conscious? Is she actually alive?”“Stop panicking Mr Williams. She’s tied up on a bed frame and looks like she’s been tortured, but she’s alive and just needs you to go in there and get her off the thing. So long feller...”“What... you mean you just left her tied up?” shouted Rory at the departing back of Fryer.“RORY!” yelled a familiar voice from the room down the corridor. That was Mrs Williams.He cautiously leaned his head around the corner of the open door. There was his wife, on the bed.“Hi Amelia” said Rory, waving apologetically “I got them to come and rescue you as soon as I could”“Not soon enough...” said Amelia, more quietly. Rory noticed the weary shadows under her eyes and could tell that the ordeal, whatever it had involved, had lasted some time – perhaps all night.“These look like the keys...” said Rory as he took two tiny keys on a small metal ring from the bench along one wall. He decided to try humour to cheer his wife’s obviously distressed mental condition.“They had better be the right ones, because I can’t help you look right now...” smiled Amelia.“The question is...” said Rory, pleased that Amelia seemed to have recovered her own humour on her own; “do I want to use them or not? Alone with my very beautiful wife, check; naked just as I like her, check; handcuffed down which I also don’t mind, check... choices, choices, choices...”“Get me up now...” warned Amelia, her Scottish accent coming to the fore; “because if you don’t, I learned some serious stuff last night about causing pain. You have all of one choice dear husband...”

THE END

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